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SONG OF THE SNOWDROP.

Ir cannot be long to the season of song,
Not long to the time of Spring;

For have we not heard the voice of the bird

The bird of the morning sing

And have we not seen, in its circle green,
As fair as the star of morn,

A wonder of grace, of the vernal race,
The beautiful snowdrop born?

At both ends of night, the scythe of the light
Is mowing the dark away;

And clearing the scene for a realm serene,

For a wider realm of day.

Old Winter, we know, on a throne of snow,
Continues to reign as king;

But the snowdrops grow, and since it is so,
It cannot be far from Spring.

Oh! joy to have seen, in its circle green,
As fair as the star of morn,

The marvel of grace, of the vernal race,

The beautiful snowdrop born!

And since we have heard the voice of the bird

The bird of the blue-realm sing,

It cannot be long to the season of song-
Not long to the cheerful Spring.

JUNE.

JUNE, the lady of the land;

June, the beautiful and bright,

Comes attended by a band

Of the angels of delight!—
Proud?-Why that who ever thought her!

No, this we may
With pleasure say,
There's not a spark of pride about her!

June, the lady of the year,

June, the joyful and the fair, Bids the bells of gladness clear,

Ring out gloom and solemn care. Partial ?-What! To wealthy people?

Those cheerful swells

Of pleasant bells,

Proceed from no sectarian steeple.

June, the lady of the lands,

Robed with shining leaves and flowers, Sings aloud and claps her hands

To the music of the hours!

Proud!—nay, that we never thought her;

No, tho' the Queen

Of all the scene,

There's not a spark of pride about her!

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66

THE SORROWS OF CRINOLINE;

OR, ANOTHER GUY," AND THE CATASTROPHE.

FASHION fond of French example,

Did a lively lady meet,
Ridicule prepared to trample
Promptly underneath her feet.

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'Listen, lady fair," said fashion,
"Proper as the tender passion,

Is the style I now supply!
Ample skirt with hoops of cane-
Steel is better-steel obtain ;
Treat the taunt with high disdain,
'Here's another Guy!'"

Rapidly the robe was rounded

Rounded like the harvest moon;
Fashion said "The world astounded,
Shall ascend in my baloon!

Common sense exclaimed "Alarming!"
Fashion-"Bosh! The sight is charming!
Happy as an empress I!"
And her lively lady scholar
Put on bonnet, cape and collar,
But the vulgar boys said "Holler!

Here's another Guy!"

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Home again. The fire was burning
With a warmly welcome blaze;
She was to the mirror turning

For its pleasant word of praise.

There, alas! not long she linger'd
Ere the flame her robe had finger'd—
Oh! that shriek—that pleading cry!
But the blaze was bent on slaying,
And amid the death-game playing,
Burning tongues kept saying-saying-
"HERE'S ANOTHER GUY!"

DISCONTENTMENT.

Now this said Discontentment, it appears,
Is a familiar spirit, dark, cross-grained,
Ugly as sin, and just about as old.
It is deceitful, too, and cheats the world
Out of much peace, by hypocritic proof
That we, poor creatures, are unfairly treated,
And, therefore, ought to murmur and complain;

or sit down,

To walk in sulky sorrow
Of course, to cry-to cry, of course, in vain!

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Would you
believe it now, that this said spirit
Is so unused to thought, so strange to reason,

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And so determined in unhappy teaching,
That if a basketful of burning stars,

From the clear frosty round of sparkling night,
Should be desired, it says "My brave, wish on!
And, if your wishes be not crown'd with glory,
Then wish, and wail as well! and if your wish
Obtain possession of the starry wealth,
Say they are not the stars you took them for,
And therefore wail the louder !"

THE SONG OF THE SELDOM-CONTENTED.

THE Song of the seldom-contented,
In murmuring monotone ran:
He had such a cold, he lamented;
However at length he began :

:

"There's always some trouble or other,
With never a moment of mirth;
What one thing, and then what another,
There's nothing but trouble on earth!

173

"If love like a dove ever lighteth,
Intending to build in the breast,
A feather the fair one affrighteth,
And, lo! it forsaketh the nest!

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